


Be Ronlyn Visque ==> Neither Heroic or Just

by Alcor_the_Dreambender



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Depression, Second person POV, Suicide, Suicide Attempts, he just keeps dying and coming back, not just or heroic death, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:56:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcor_the_Dreambender/pseuds/Alcor_the_Dreambender
Summary: EXTREME TRIGGER WARNING!!!!There is suicide and gore and depressive thoughts! A lot of that, so like. Don’t read if you aren’t okay with that.Your name is Ronlyn Visque, and the game has ended.And you hate it.





	Be Ronlyn Visque ==> Neither Heroic or Just

Be Ronlyn Visque ==>

You just hover there, over the couch, dried and half-dried tears sticking to your skin and making you feel gross. 

==>  
Six months, three weeks, five days, twelve hours, fifty minutes, and thirteen seconds since the game ended. 

==>  
You’ve stopped eating. What’s the point? You don’t need it, you’re not going to die. Not really. You just keep coming back.   
Suicide isn’t just. Nor is it heroic.   
You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to-

==>  
You does what you want to. You scream, you sob, you tear at your skin and the Seer’s garb, you rip yourself apart until you’re on the floor and gushing bright, lime green blood. Staining old drawings that you can’t get yourself to destroy. 

==>  
You wake up in your bed, but can’t get yourself to sit up. You’re too weak. Maybe this death will be just. Maybe it’ll be heroic.   
You’ve been logged out of trollian for a while, maybe your friends have messaged you. 

==>  
You check. No one. No one has messaged you.   
No one is even online. 

==>  
You stare at the drawings, the crusty blood on the floor.   
You’re out of paper.   
You can make do with this. 

==>  
You shove the last box of drawings into the room, close the door, lock it, and slide the key under the door.   
“There,” you say, but it doesn’t really come out.   
Maybe you should drink something. 

==> drink something   
Water feels like acid. Has it been this long since you drank anything? Wow.   
You gulp down another glass, clutch the wall as dizziness overwhelms you, and-   
Your color looks weird when diluted with water.   
But it’s on the floor, you should clean it up before it dries up and smells.   
So you do. 

==>  
Your tank top feels cold. It’s too big on you now.   
You can see your bones indented through your skin.   
You look older than you are.   
Your sweat pants don’t even stay up on your hips anymore.   
So you alchemize new clothes of the same kind.   
It fits this time around, but breathing is hard.   
You hate breathing. 

==>  
Drowning feels weird. Like flying, but under pressure. You let yourself breathe in the lake water as small fish and water bugs move around you.   
You’re disturbing them.   
Somehow, you can feel it.   
You don’t question it when your eyes finally slip closed. 

==>  
You don’t move when you open your eyes and you’re on your bed again.   
You just lay there, until you can’t feel your fingers, and you force yourself to move. 

==>  
You don’t even hurt anymore when you draw in hot, wet, paint on the wall.   
It’s not acrylic paint.   
It’s Alternian paint.   
It makes you sick, but you don’t care. 

==>  
You finally step outside your hive for the first time in eleven months, two weeks, six days, twenty three hours, fourteen minutes, and three seconds.   
The sun hurts your eyes, so you stare right at it until it blinds you. 

==>   
You fall down the stairs, and you hear a crack.   
You grunt, stand up, and push until your arm fully breaks.   
You scream, chatter, chirp, and firmly speak in Alternian.   
English can suck it. 

==>   
You open your eyes again, and instantly scream.   
YOU HATE IT!!!! YOU HATE BREATHING YOU HATE VISIONS YOU HATE-  
That no one talks to you anymore.   
You miss Abel, you miss Dancei, you miss Corona, you miss Cislly.   
You miss Abel the most. 

==>   
Today is okay.   
It is what humans call a Wednesday, it is June 23rd, and today is your wriggling day.   
Today, you don’t want to die.   
Today, you are going to try and get better.   
You scrub the grime from your body. You clip your nails, you scrub your scalp, you wash your hair.   
You take a breath, and then close your eyes.   
You cut your hair, it’s gotten too long.   
You use up the hot water making sure it feels nice, making sure you feel better. 

==>   
You log back into pesterchum at noon.   
You look over your chat lists, and find that you don’t have any messages.   
That’s okay. They must be busy. You can find something else to do. 

==>  
And you do.   
You clean up your hive. You scrub down the walls and you wash the floor and you clean up the kitchen and you open the windows.   
And it’s all. Okay.   
You’re okay.   
For the first time in two sweeps exactly, you’re okay.   
And it’ll get better.


End file.
